Hidden
by shadows.in.the.deepend
Summary: I left that life behind, all its chaos and expectation. 17 and alone, I fell into the comfort of dream. He was older, mature, and seemed to want me. I didn't want to go back, they had never understood me. No one, even Harry, could bring me back. GWHP/GWOC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **New story, very different than my other one. I'll warn you now, it's quite dark and quite R rated. The plot will develop more in the following chapters, this is more of a prologue of some sort. And don't be surprised by the lack of Potter characters; they will come. For now it's GW/OC. The background will be explained as the story continues. Enjoy and leave any remarks or suggestions…xx Kyra

**Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are owned by JK Rowling. ****All other characters belong to me. Cheers!**

Hidden

Chapter 1: It Was All a Dream…

He probably didn't know. Didn't realize how large of a gap stood between us, both in age and in experience. Obviously he knew how young I was, how could that blatant fact be ignored? It couldn't be. Impossible. But then how was it that he didn't even recognize my gasps and hitched cries? Was the inability to hear a side-effect of sex? Well that couldn't be true, given I could hear his voice murmuring a mixture of swears and praises to Jesus. Had I forgotten to tell him? Had I let that one important detail of virginity slip out of my mind? I was sure that I hadn't. Then what could explain it? His harshness and ignorance to my inexperience was obscene. I had gone over the reasons for this multiple times. Age, his inability to realize what a 'first time' really meant to a girl. Perhaps it was because he had done the deed so many times before that he had forgotten the elementary facts when this particular time actually came. It had to be that.

I curled my knees in towards my body, curving my spine to create a ball. The sheets which at first seemed smooth and crisp now felt sticky and filled with grime. How much time had passed by? I could hear a shower being taken in the hallway bathroom. I yearned to leave my bubble, but resisted the temptation. Not only because it seemed unconventional and rude, but also because I doubted walking this soon after would be comfortable, let alone possible. It wasn't like the alternate accommodations waiting for me were any better. In fact, they seemed almost vulgar in comparison. A two room flat, infested with bugs, containing one sleeper-settee and a dysfunctional telly. A nightstand with missing drawers placed beside the kitchen counter constituted as my table and chair. The nightstand had been sitting out on the curb for pickup when I moved in. Penniless and void of a job, I had resorted to transfiguring candles out of pebbles to serve as light, as I couldn't pay the electric bill. I hated using my wand, even for the most necessary means. I didn't want that part of me anymore.

But here, in the spacious three bedroom townhouse, I didn't have to depend on that part of me. He had taught me how to use things like a microwave, coffee machine, or hair dryer. Long had I wondered why he wanted me. I didn't know whether it was my helplessness that had made him attracted, or my magic. He found it amusing, different, and almost exotic. He liked to sit back and watch me use it, performing the most elementary spells for him. I did them, willingly; the attention was rewarding. It wasn't as though I was a stray dog, desperate for acknowledgment. It was more that it gave me a sense of purpose, that he wasn't simply taking pity on me.

A part of me thought that he liked it a bit too much. There was one time when he threw a fit when I left my wand at home; his flaring temper served as a reminder to remember it in the future. At the same time though, it seemed that he relished in my ignorance. He seemed to take pleasure in the fact that I was so naïve. Maybe it made him feel in control. He bought me things, kept me stable and up to date. But one thing that caught on quickly was his inability to relinquish control; he kept me from independence. He liked me as a child, taking care of me when no one else would. I soon realized that after he drove himself into seclusion when I brought up my parents and my past. He didn't want to hear it. I found it surprising because we had only been together for two months. It was as if he didn't want to hear it, because somehow it would break the spell that had been placed on me, taking me away from him. Perhaps he felt negligible this way, after the time we had spent together; that I didn't really need him. What would I say though? That I didn't like the attention, care, or support? I did, to be honest. Life was better here than in my dilapidated rental. His maturity made me feel special, prized almost. He could've pocketed any woman walking around London, but he didn't. He wanted me. No one had wanted me before; it served as a reason to stay.

He took pity on me the first time he saw me, stick thin and food deprived, staring at the clothing and food in Marks & Spencer. He asked me if I was looking for something; I replied no. He remarked on my hair, its brilliant red hue, the color of fire. He seemed to ignore the fact that it was unwashed, tangled, and limp. He said that I looked pale, would I like to grab a bite to eat with him. My doe-like eyes widened and stared into his. I hadn't eaten in days. Was he able to notice that? He smirked as I hungrily ate through three courses without taking a breath of air.

He took me out to eat every night for the following week. He was interested in me, wanting to hear who I was, and why I was there. I told him that I didn't share those details with strangers. This seemed to amuse him further. _'Well can I at least know your name?' _ I hesitated. _'It's…it's Gi-' _ I stopped. _'Georgia. My name is Georgia.'_

He introduced himself as Hayden. He was twenty-six years old. Exactly nine years my senior. The difference intimidated me, still does. It was more apparent in front of his friends than with him alone. He told me that he had graduated from Oxford with a master's in business. He was curious when I didn't respond with awe. Even with this, he didn't ask for my age. I became comfortable with the routine by the end of the week. I didn't want it to stop, but he was beginning to seem bored with me. I decided that this was the time to tell him. I didn't know why it seemed to be my only advantage, but a part of me realized how important it was. Vital, almost. _'I'm much younger than you, you know.' _ He smirked and said that he had noticed this. _'Don't you want to know my age?' _ I said, trying to press him. He shrugged. _'I'm only seventeen.' _To this he raised an eyebrow. I was Georgia, the mysterious, haggard seventeen year old.

He seemed to be fond of this, finding amusement in my lack of maturity and knowledge of the real adult world. He laughed when he heard I hadn't tasted muggle alcohol before. He gave me a glass of wine; not a good choice. This move subsequently led to my first visit of his house. Even in my state of confounded stupor, I knew it was different than anything I had seen before. Majestic, grand, state of the art. It was a three story townhouse, bordering Kensington Garden. My amazement served as a sudden distraction, causing me to fall and rip my worn out jeans. Without thinking I whipped out my wand and quickly repaired it. It was then that he stared at me in mingled thrill and confusion.

He told me to do it again. I stared at him and remained motionless. Instead of releasing his hidden temper, he turned away from me and walked away since I wouldn't comply. I never understood why he became so mad. I waited for a quarter hour for him to return, and when he didn't, I followed his path. I entered a sitting room, which resembled a young bachelor's game room. He was sitting in a large leather bound chair, smoking a cigarette, and staring at me as I slowly walked towards him. '_You're like a__ baby. You don't know anything. Isn't this like the wilderness for you? __ But you'r__e special. What did you do back there? Looked like__ magic.' _ I nodded my head. Only a slow person could miss that, so there was no point in denial. It was shocking to find that he accepted this fact so easily. He wasn't fazed by it. He continued to refer to me as a baby, a child of some sort; not in the affectionate way, but as if it was a fact. I didn't know what I was getting into. Not then, not six months later. My conscience was gone.

But I felt safe with him, or at least like I belonged. The next morning he sent a car to pick me up and bring me to his townhouse again. On the kitchen counter laid an assortment of clothing and shoes. He told me they had been ordered for me since I didn't necessarily own anything besides what I was wearing and an old set of pajamas stolen from my brother's trunk before I left. They were beautiful; more exquisite than anything I had worn before. He said I was more ecstatic than a five year old girl in a toy shop. I didn't understand why he was doing this for me. I hadn't done anything for him, not even an implication of the future. He would smirk and then sit back in his chair, either watching me or turning towards the telly to watch a football match.

The first time he kissed me was almost three weeks into our meeting. I had been spending my days with him in his house, usually remaining quiet, but still there. I asked him one day to use the shower and wash my hair. He waved his hands towards the loo and went back to his activity. When I returned, he stared at me with a lingering intensity. In one swift move he got up from his seat and walked over to me. My hair was smooth and luscious, creating small waves down my chest and back. _'It's so __soft__.'_ He said to me. He ran his hand over the back of my head, allowing his fingers to comb through the silky tendrils. I gave a small smile from my position eight inches beneath him. He leaned down and placed one soft kiss upon my lips, his hand running from my hair to my neck, cocking my face up. He held it for a moment before stepping back, giving his trademark smirk, and returning to his seat.

Time seemed to fast-forward itself from thereon out. He had me meet his friends, mainly to show me off in some strange way. It was as if I only felt alienated while in the company of others. This foreign sense of awkwardness magically appeared when we weren't alone. They were all so much older than I was. I could see the caution in their stare, yet I could sense the wonder that contained them. I was introduced to them roughly two months into our relationship. He invited a few of his mates over to watch some important match, but hardly any attention was spent on the game. Each said their low muffled hello's, either shaking my hand or giving a nod. It was as if they didn't know how to regard me, let alone act around me. Hayden seemed to revel in the amazement his friends expressed. I could see him talking to them about me, standing off in another part of the room, constantly staring in my direction with the same amused smirk plastered upon their face. What was the obsession? Why was I more of a prize than a being? Nevertheless, I regarded it as flattery.

It wasn't until much later on that one more person arrived. He was tall and lanky, yet had the warmest eyes, and instead of a smirk, more of a smile. He was the first to actually talk to me, ask how I was. His name was Max, an old school mate of Hayden. He alone seemed to disregard my innocent nature and lack of age. It was refreshing and welcoming. I hadn't experienced the feeling for months. A short while later Hayden broke away from his gang, weaving his way over to my designated corner. He placed a warm arm around my waist, giving it a small squeeze. _'You're a hit. Did you know that?' _His voice was filled with pleasure. _'They think you're absolutely adorable.' _ He paused for a moment before turning to face me. I could see his eyes move slowly up and down my petite frame, lingering on my mouth as he made his way up. He nodded his head in the most peculiar of ways, almost like a gesture of approval. I'd worn one of the new pairs of jeans given to me, along with this billowy patterned chiffon strapless blouse. Apparently I had done a good job. _'Keep yourself entertained, I'm going to go finish the match.' _ He hastily pecked the top of my head and walked away, resuming the previous engagement. I couldn't ignore the looks, the prowling gazes of his cronies. I was like the china doll placed in a glass box; never used, just admired.

I didn't mind. Didn't mind the way he regarded me, didn't mind the overprotective, reigning manner he held with me. I was his, but he was also mine, and at least I had someone. Truth be told, I was aware that someone could easily take advantage of me. I was young, thrown in an unfamiliar world, not yet old enough to be legally independent, and void of any support. However, even through this, he never attempted to push me, to pressure me into unknown acts. His patience would wane after some time, but by then I had already mentally prepared myself. When he did lose his composure, I left him in his seclusion and went home. The flat owners were out of the country and rarely asked for rent on time. I tried to keep myself away from the flat as much as I could. I learned how to deal with him, how to get what I needed yet still keep him relatively satisfied. I seldom got mad; I had spent all of my anger when I left my old life.

I found myself becoming accustomed to his life, falling into his daily cycle. It wasn't as if he worked, he had no need; money was readily available through his masses of inheritance. I could feel myself steadily becoming more and more dependent on him. Maybe this was what he wanted. He certainly shot down every idea I concocted about getting a job or trying to find some independence. I was too swept up to argue; I had faith that he would stay with me.

He brought up the question of sex five months into things. He was dumbfounded to learn I was completely inexperienced. He had little to no response, other than a murmur of 'ok' and the scratching of his chin. From then on I could tell he was waiting. I could feel it when he held me in bed, pressing his strong body up against mine as I curled up. He would place one hand upon my thigh, sliding my nightie up so that he could grip my protruding hip, before pulling me back tightly into him. His other hand would slither underneath me and make its way under the smooth fabric. His cool fingers would make circles on the baby soft skin of my stomach, unless they decided to move up and cup my small breasts instead. I could sense his want when he would dig his face into the crook of my neck and simultaneously press his hips into my backside. I didn't give in just to appease him, though. I would turn my head and give him a long, slow kiss before turning back. He understood as much as he could.

I didn't hold off for too long. I told him I needed some sort of contraceptive before I would do anything, and he returned the next day with birth control. He asked me how long until I was ready, and I said a few days. His eyes flickered with delight before returning to its usual dark amusement. I was nervous, unprepared, and in constant wonder. I had no information, no clue as to what it would be like.

Finally, I decided to take the plunge. He was already in bed, shirt off as usual. I walked out of the bathroom, my twig-like legs shaking against my will. I felt oddly cold in my miniscule nightie; the scrap of lace and silk clung to my small, bony figure, ending only at the top of my thigh. He looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. I raised my eyes to look at him, flashing a meaningful glance. He swiftly moved himself from the bed to where I was standing, immediately placing his two strong hands on my neck and jaw. He kissed me with passion and ferocity, keeping my tilted head steady with his locked hands. I felt myself relax temporarily. He suddenly removed his mouth and looked at me, his gaze tense and glowing. He slid his hands down to the bottom of my garment, slowly lifting it up and off my raised arms. I felt so small and exposed in front of him, bare with the exception of my cotton knickers. He rested his hands once more upon my hips, pulling me close to him. He bent his neck to the side, leaning in towards my neck. Slowly, he placed a trail of kisses down to my shoulder. As he did so, he guided my body towards the bed, carefully resting me down upon the soft surface. I crawled backwards, finding my way into the comforter. He followed suit, halting when he reached the entrance to the covers. Instead of joining me, he pulled them back halfway, leaving only half of my legs underneath it. He quickly discarded his undergarments before turning back to me.

I felt awkward and insecure under his gaze. He moved his body over mine, weight resting on his arms. He nuzzled my neck before moving his face down, kissing the crevice between my breasts and the trail of blonde fuzz that trailed down my stomach. He leaned back on his legs and trailed his arms down, hands placing themselves on the waistband of my panties. He slowly slipped them down and off my legs, tenderly placing a kiss on both of my hipbones. I could feel his hardness brush up against my skin occasionally, causing my breath to hitch. He moved back up and looked down at my wide eyes. _'Don't be scared, little one.'_ He whispered directly into my ear. I placed my hands around his waist; I needed to hold on to him, to secure myself. He moved one arm down to my legs, spreading them apart to allow his body in between. Without thinking I attempted to close them again; he smirked. He pushed them back again, keeping his hand on the inside of my thigh to keep it in place. He glanced in my direction before looking back down again. Before I could organize my thoughts, he had entered me in one swift blow. He couldn't have realized the pain, the burning that erupted from his one move. My arms tightened around his toned waist as I held back a cry. I whispered to him not to move yet. I could feel my face heating up, the back of my throat swelling. He didn't seem to realize how harsh his movement was, how much it contrasted with his gentle behavior from before. I pushed my head back, pressing it into the pillow, unwilling to look at his face. My breathing seemed to calm down after a moment, acting as a signal for him to continue. His movements were slow yet forceful in the beginning, quickly picking up pace and pressing deeper inside me. Each thrust seemed to feel like a thousand blades were stabbing me in one place at the same time, accentuated by my gasps and moans. I closed my eyes and waited for it to end.

The sky was dark, and I couldn't make out the hands on the clock. I tightened the comforter around my body; I didn't have any clothes on and felt cold and exposed. My body was sore and throbbing. I felt dirty and in desperate need of a bath. I closed my eyes and tried not to recall the experience only a few hours old. It took longer than I expected, culminating in his moves becoming even more powerful and swift. A loud gasp escaped my mouth when I felt him release inside of me; the feeling was intense and strange; uncomfortable yet not painful. He let out one last moan before resting his body on top of mine. I could feel his heart beating incredibly fast and his body was covered in a thin layer of sweat. After he had recovered himself, he slowly removed himself and rolled onto his back. I didn't have anything to say; I was in a temporary state of shock. He turned onto his side and wrapped his arms around my limp body; within seconds he was sleeping.

The shower seemed to stop and I heard a door open. He walked in to the bedroom, catching my open eyes.

'How are you feeling?' he said, the expression on his face impassive. I remained silent. 'Don't worry, it'll get better. The first time always hurts a lot. I was surprised, actually. You didn't bleed much at all. Perhaps you aren't such a little girl anymore.'

Whether this was supposed to make me feel better, I didn't know. Instead I shut my eyes, a shiver going through my body. I wished I could have someone hold me, take care of me. I knew that he meant well, that he didn't think he was being insensitive. However, I still wanted the comfort. It wasn't as if I didn't want to be around him, I just needed to be alone or away from him for a bit. His presence after what had just happened only brought back flashes of memory. But who did I have? My parents, my siblings, my friends…Harry; they were my past now, I couldn't be a part of them anymore. The pain of that life was too strong, too powerful to deal with.

Hayden removed his towel and climbed back into bed, placing one hand on my hip as if second nature. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore everything. This was better than my only other option; this new world was better than the one I had left, or so I believed.

……………………………………………………

**A/N: **Well I hope you enjoyed, as I said before, it's quite different. Please review! It's a brand new concept so I don't know what to make of it yet. Or whether to continue. xx Kyra


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm glad you all liked the last chapter! And to clarify, no it did not come from personal experience. **I am not that messed up! This chapter is going to focus on Ginny's reasons for leaving, sooo much background. Be prepared. It also explains things like Harry, more on Hayden, etc. It isn't too R rated, I'm afraid…that comes next chapter, along with some other surprises. Just a note, I will be updating every week, no sooner, no later. However, (and this I've seen done in other stories), if I get twice the reviews as the last chapter, I'll cut the time to five days to update. Understood? Read on! xx Kyra

Hidden

Chapter 2: My Life, Magnified

It was an understatement to say that I had changed. I had traveled so far from my past that I didn't know how to go back, not that I even wanted to. My character had changed; in the past, I had been known as the brave, outgoing Ginny, with an excess of spunk and ferocity. I was known to be powerful when beheld, with a pulsating energy that transferred to my opposing partner. That had faded, however; all of the personality and vigor seemed to leak out of my body the more I separated myself from my origin. I was changing, becoming this foreign being completely unknown to even myself. I couldn't recognize my actions; it was as if my decisions were being made by a strange disconnected conscience.

At the same time, though, it was relieving. Mentally alleviating to step back and take a seat; I was sick of my days of fighting. I had no idea how Hayden may have taken me before, wild and rarely held back. But that seemed to only make things worse; I would lash out at every impeding force, up until the point where I couldn't take it. I didn't want to fight for everything, for the simple ability to sustain myself. I blamed it on the magic, the rare gift given by birth. To make matters worse, the fact that I was powerful made me an object, something to be profited from. They had used me to fight; but it wasn't that factor which made me run. They had stripped everything away from me; my hobbies, my friends, my life. They had made it seem like my duty to use my magic, but all the while I only yearned for my life, my freedom. No one wanted me for me; I was too wild to contain. Instead, they only wanted my ability. It made me hate magic, the burden it had placed on my shoulders. It wasn't my responsibility. I didn't want it anymore; I didn't want it to be part of my identity.

So I fled. I had packed my belongings during the dead of night and promised that I would never return. I silently placed my packed bag on the seat beside the window. As I did so, however, I realized that this was it; this was the end. I wouldn't see these people, those I regarded as my family, ever again. I had the instant urge to cry, to confess my fear of leaving, yet need to separate. No one said it wouldn't be painful. Tip-toeing past my fellow sixth-year Gryffindors, I moved out into the hallway. During the short period of time at the beginning of my fifth-year when I hadn't yet been recruited for my inexplicable abilities, I had become quite the expert at sneaking into the boys' dormitory unnoticed. I felt a small surge of excitement surge through my veins as I stepped down the stairs, an ounce of trepidation still lingering in my chest; I hadn't been able to do this for the longest of times. I slipped across the edge of the common room, making way for the boys' staircase. I inhaled the familiar scent of warm burning fire and stale ink; it was unique and perpetual, I doubted that I would ever encounter it again.

I brushed the nostalgia off my conscience and silently crept up the stairs, praying that no one was up to use the loo. When I finally reached the seventh-years' dormitory I paused. A flash of doubt swept through my mind; I still couldn't tell if I was truly making the right decision. I was too fed up, however, to even give it a second thought. I had made up my mind, end of discussion. If only someone had helped me, led me in the right direction…perhaps things would be different.

I slowly pushed open the heavy wooden door, praying that it wouldn't creak. I cast my eyes upon the first bed, the one I knew to be my brother, Ron's. I quickly held my gasp when I realized that two bodies lay intertwined upon the small single mattress. I knew that it was Hermione; this could be determined to say the least. I wanted to speak to him, say my goodbye, but I knew that I couldn't. Not even he could know. At last, I knew what my last step was; I had to leave Harry. My heart pounded as I turned my gaze upon his sleeping figure, which was strewn haphazardly across the bed. For the past year or so, he had become my best friend and worst enemy. I could not deny the fact that it was he who would ultimately need my power to help him fight; I could not deny that it was he who had informed the Order of my raw talent, my skill, my magic which, if trained, could be surpassed only by the best. But still, despite this, he was there for me. He comforted me when I felt weak and strained; he stood up for me when others claimed I had lost my personality, voice, and body; he acted like the only one who still cared about me.

It confused me to think about Harry Potter, the boy who lived, survived, fought. I suppose he loved me, he had told me countless times. From the inception of our romantic status to the night of my secret departure, he voiced that he loved me. But did he truly care about me? He may have thought that he did, but really didn't. If he had, then he wouldn't have let this happen. He wouldn't have let me be stripped of life, to the point where I was connected by a strained thread. We were close, constantly in each other's midst, divulging in our latest revelations or occurrences. I told him everything; my pain, my objections to training. It was as if he would listen but never hear me. Couldn't he see that I was deteriorating before his very eyes, that too at his expense? My parents couldn't have known for they rarely saw me. Ron and Hermione were too busy dealing with themselves to even cast a glance in my direction. I was invisible to them, lost in some other world with no one to even ask how I was and then listen to the response. I had become an object in everyone's books, a weapon in their raging war.

At some point I had to take action. I could feel myself slowly waning, losing everything which made me. My magic may have become comparable to the most historic of the wizarding world, but the toll was my life. I knew which one I had to abandon, which one I had to place the blame upon. If magic was the reason for my ill fate, then it had to be stopped. I swore never to rely upon it again.

As I stared at Harry's placid expression, I concurred that he would be fine. I had worried that my absence would destroy him, but the simple look upon his face smothered my concern. Before leaving I spotted a hastily folded pair of pajamas lying upon Ron's trunk. I don't know whether I wanted to preserve a part of him or simply have another pair, but I reached for the soft flannel and held it to my chest. When I saw one of the boys turn over in their bed, I crept out and stalked back to my room before he woke and noticed my appearance. I placed the garments in my weightless shoulder bag and scanned the room. This was the end.

I awoke the next day on a park bench in London. My body ached after flying for hours throughout the night. I quickly checked in the neighboring bush for my broomstick. Figuring that I would never need it again, I muttered a spell and watched as it turned itself into oak colored mulch. I then turned to my bag, searching for the small purse that contained all the money I possessed. I had a few sickles and a galleon to constitute my wizarding money, and the small roll of muggle notes from the World Quidditch Cup which I had nicked from my father's shed during the Christmas holidays. I counted up the notes and realized that I had two hundred pounds. How much was that worth? I figured that it couldn't have been much. I threw the bag over my shoulder and began to walk. I had no idea where I was going, what I was doing. I knew that I needed to find a place to stay, but the prospects were confusing and odd. I made my way through the maze of streets, often staring at buildings, trying to decipher if they were available. As the sun set and the hoards of faceless people began to diminish, I understood that I was virtually alone and homeless. Panic began to erupt within me; there was no haven, not even a prospect. Finally I stumbled upon what was soon to become my home.

The building was ransacked and gloomy, with broken windows and an entrance whose doors were covered in newspaper. Sticking to the brick wall was a 'for rent' flyer. I snatched it and entered into the building. My body tightened as I found myself surrounded by waste and filth. I proceeded toward the listen apartment, timidly knocking the door. It opened to reveal an elderly Russian couple who spoke in broken English. It was relayed that the furniture would stay and rent was to be given to the neighbor every other week. They had me sign a contract and a deposit of fifty pounds. I handed over the money and asked if I could move in today. With their approval, my new life began.

The month prior to meeting Hayden proved to be the most difficult in my life. I had no experience or recommendations to make me suitable for a job, and my money was quickly deteriorating. I soon learned that food was expensive, as was travel and maintenance. But I was free, released from the grasps of magic and duty. By the end though, I was so close to poverty that I began to reconsider my move. To everyone else, it was like I had no past, nothing of importance. I was a witch, and there was no room for us here. How could I start from step one when I needed to survive many steps down the line? Hayden saved me, allowed me to keep from going back.

Progression can be placed on many scales. In my experience with Hayden, it was quick and able to sweep me off my feet. I was thrown into his cycle after only five months, one where I ate, drank, slept, and lived in his dominion, under his constant watchful eye. Even sex became a component. After our first time, he made it know that it was to practically a custom. The intention was clear and rigid.

I began to know when he wanted it. It was always after my hair had been washed and released into flowing locks. He would casually ask if I had taken my pill that day, either during supper or while we sat about the television room, lying upon one another in one of our increasingly frequent signs of affection. On the rare occasion that I said no, I would feel his back stiffen and his eyes flash with a menacing look. He would excuse himself to go work out in the gym downstairs or check his mail. Once I had caught on to his mood swings regarding sex, I realized that there was no point in avoiding it. It was a choice between his anger and my lack of a choice.

Things grew increasingly precarious when my rented flat came into play. It began with our first real fight, which was a whole other issue to begin with. My patience for the ongoing isolation was weakening, to the point where I was finished with the continuous daily cycle. It had been only days before our six month marking point. I needed to see other people, build relationships with people other than Hayden. This was the first sign of my old self returning; I could feel it underneath my skin- the prickling sensation in my fingertips when I would feel the urge to protest, the pounding of my heart underneath my chest; the racing pulse. I think he could sense it, his hold over me beginning to wane. His anger broke for the first time when I invited one of his mates over. I had taken a liking to Max, and during the few times I had met him, he seemed to be the only one keen on a friendship of some sort. We never discussed Hayden, or our pasts in general. Instead, we would discuss different countries and cultures, and sports! – oh, how he seemed to consume himself with them. It was like a birthday gift to him when he found out that I had no knowledge of games. His passion and excitement, it was something I had never seen in Hayden; it distinguished them, a clear line down the dark sheet. Max was a friend; Hayden was more than that, though less at the same time.

Hayden had walked into the sitting room one afternoon to find the two of us chatting lively over rugby and its faults compared to football. His expression hardened immediately, staring directly into my eyes. I could feel his anger, or maybe it was indignation?, emanate from his glare. He quickly turned his gaze towards Max and asked to excuse me for a moment. Fear building in my stomach, I followed him into the kitchen, where he placed both hands down on the counter and leaned in. I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans and stood motionless, his back still turned towards me. _'What is this?' _ His voice was cold and sharp. I began to explain the situation, how it had came to be, but he paid no attention. _'How do you think it feels to __walk in on you and Max being bloody attached at the hip_He continued to ramble; he was becoming unreasonable, to the point where his arguments were making no sense. I began to raise my voice, matching his, insisting that he had no right to be angry with me. _'No right to be angry? Are you joking? I can't even trust you if I'm going to find this happening…you having other blokes over in my bleeding sitting room. You're supposedly mine, but you were probably ready to be a little whore and shag the daylights out of him. Weren't you?'_

My heart froze and my face turned the color of marble. He didn't mean it, he couldn't have. Perhaps he had been drinking, that tended to rile him up. How could he think I would do that? My mind tried to formulate something to say, but it was impossible. I floated towards the front door, fishing out the key to my flat from the side table. Moments later I felt his shadow upon me and turned to find him wearing a twisted smirk. _'What, going to escape to your __horrid__ little flat? Think that's going to change anything? Give it to me. You know you're not going anywhere. You don't have the strength to leave, because you know that it's the end if you do.' _It was an ultimatum; either I choose him or my independence. I wasn't in the state to argue. He grasped my hand and retrieved the key, pocketing it in his trousers. He turned on his heel, walking back towards the kitchen. It was clear that my scrap of a refuge was now disappearing in the palm of his hand, and there was no way for me to stop it. I felt my shoulders tremble and fell back against the door, sliding down until I was crouched in a ball. I shed silent tears for minutes upon minutes. I was confused, lost inside my falsified world.

That night he was rougher than I had ever experienced. He didn't even ask, didn't wait to receive any protest. He knew that I was still fragile, still scared when it came to the deed. It had been three weeks since my first time, and since then I had only followed through with his want twice. I'd compensate when I refused him, but he knew that I was clear on my rules. This time, however, was an exception. I still found it painful and awkward, like I didn't know what was happening to me. He didn't seem to care, though, as he grabbed by body hastily and placed himself on top. He didn't seem to care as he ripped away my knickers and forced my legs wide apart, to the extent where I could feel my joints straining. He didn't seem to care as he pounded forcefully, deeper and harder each time. He didn't look at me once; didn't pay attention to my loud cries and pained expression. My hands formed tight fists at either side, trying to balance agony. What was I going to do, though? Tell him to stop? Act like it wasn't actually hurting me? Neither option was available. I was trapped.

The next morning I woke up alone. After painstakingly changing my clothes, I walked as normal as possible into the dining room. Hayden looked up from his newspaper and smirked. He could obviously tell that I was sore. I couldn't accept the fact that he was pleased with my state, so I ignored it completely. I sat down at the table and poured myself some tea. After a few moments he looked up and added as if it were everyday conversation, that my flat had been lost to someone else. I didn't react. The rest of the day flew by as if nothing had happened.

……………………………………………………………..

A/N: Well there you have it. Background and some more progress with the notorious Hayden. As I said before, any comments and suggestions are much appreciated. I'm quite interested to hear your opinion on Hayden…what do you think of him? He is quite odd if I do say so myself. I'll update in a week, though if I receive over 18 reviews then it's bumped down to five days. Also, if you have anything that you want to hear or learn about Ginny/Hayden, just pop it in the review and I'd be happy to include it in the next chapter. xx Kyra


End file.
